Oh to skip and sing and smile in the frost frozen rural Miami landscape at 3+AM and not a car in sight. I wouldn’t have traded it for the world. Stumbling and singing to the sun porch and there’s the barn cat purring his lovies into your lap, his soft paws kneading as you sit to take a breather. Brother passed out on the sofa, ok… it’s time for bed, I said.
Happy Hunting in the Fresh Season, and may You find yourself in that perfect spot where time coalesces like a soft pudding and all the happy things rain down on you though the weather (and the weathering) may be, at times, tads inclement.
–The Jabberlope / 2011